Awake
by detective ink
Summary: 5 separate drabbles using the word "awake" as the main promopt! Wincehster angst, brotherly banter and deals that were never meant to be broken. Feedback is adored!
1. Part 1

**Title:** 1/5 "Awake" Series  
**Characters:** Mostly Dean, Dean with mentions of Sam  
**Genre:** Mostly Angst  
**Rating:** PG-13/R - All stories I write have this warning for one reason or another.  
**Summary:** Separate mini stories involving Dean & Sam Winchester.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Nope. Nada. Zilch. Kripke holds the pink slip. I just play around with it ;)  
**Feedback:** Please! I'm a glutton and I'll take what I can get!

_AWAKE:_

**1.** -- His body was tired. Hell, everything seemed tiring to him anymore. Eating. Sleeping. Fucking. Breathing. But today somehow felt worse. His soul wore an unknown weight of abandonment; the absence of self that was uninviting at best, horrifying at its worst. Waking, his strong legs lapsed to the side of the beaten mattress, eyes unfocused and uncaring.

Dean just didn't care for anything anymore. His logic and reasoning had been left at the door 294 days, 14 hours and 36 minutes before this very moment. That was when he sold his rights to life for the one person he gave a damn about; a death certificate written in his own pen.

Glancing around the vacant room, his eyes set on the full size bed laying approximately three feet from where his own rested, the sheets as they were when he bought this room. Unused. Cold. Empty.

Sam left him approximately 293 days ago, the gravity of Dean's actions having brought on a silence so deafening, he couldn't bear to look at him a moment longer. The older brother's life had ended, began and then ceased to exist for the second heartbreaking time in a matter of days.

He understood why Sam ditched him.

"Are you stupid, Dean?"

"How could you do that, Dean?"

"What am I supposed to do now, Dean?"

Over and over his little brother's voice permeated his thoughts like a virus spreading out and claiming all cells as its own. This kind of torture was underrated, he thought, as another moment of solace and peace was lost for the infinite time that month, just like all the weeks prior.

Rubbing his midnight eyes, he reached to the table stand closest and retrieved his phone. Two missed calls. Two voicemail's. One text message.

All from Bobby.

Sighing outwardly, his concentration locked once more on the hard truth that Sammy couldn't hack it, not this time, but Dean was okay with that.

It was nearly the 294th time this year that he began the day without his brother, but Dean was okay with this isolated reality. Sammy was alive somewhere, and that was all he needed to know.


	2. Part 2

_AWAKE:_

**2. **-- Ears pick up the quaint sounds of a growl. "Sam?" Dean asks. His voice accusatory and abrasive, his rest interrupted for the millionth time since his geek brother rejoined him on the hunt. A quiet yet volatile air snaps his eyes awake as if his father just screamed an order and he were still a pre-teen again. "Jesus H..." he mumbles, rolling his eyes in an customary yet annoyed fashion.

"Sorry dude," is all the shaggy haired, tall Winchester brother says, before shrugging his shoulders and continuing on with whatever was clearly irritating him. "Seriously man, it's 6 am. What the hell are you doing?" Dean quips, his head falling back down to the soft confines of his cheap motel pillows.

"Sonuvabitchhh...!" Sam cries out, fist slamming down on the poor excuse of a dinner table in exasperation, the failure of his computer's hard drive bringing out a wrath few have lived to tell. "This piece of...I'm gonna throw this shhh...Well, that's just great! DAMMIT!"

Still spread out on his bed, Dean let slip a light chuckle to his own surprise. He immediately regretted it.

"You think this is funny man?" Dean turned with just enough time to see his younger brother's eyes fill with fierce rage. The growl that caused his early rise ringing louder in his ears than it had before. "A little bit, yeah. It's just a computer Sammy."

Mistake.

Big, fat mistake.

"Just a compu... Well then, let's go rip the transmission from the Impala. It is just a car after all, now isn't it?" Dean shot upright, faster than his brain allowed and for a brief moment, stars clouded his vision. Or perhaps it was anger. He wasn't sure which origin those cursed little vision spots appeared from, but shook his head in hopes of freeing himself.

"What is this, some trickster shit again?" He said, pointing his finger between the two of them, sighing and sitting back down, the fight over as fast as it had begun.

"Can you fix it?" He quietly said, running a hand through his messy short hair, eyes clamped shut with the simple wish of falling asleep again once this was over with. He heard an exhale of annoyance followed by a resounded sigh, and knew the answer. "Well, we'll just get another one on someone else's dime."

Sam knew the explanation behind why the hard drive loss was important would fall on deaf ears, or worse, ones that held no care for or against said technical difficulty. So he grumbled, brooded, sighed and groaned until he finally, gave up.

"6:33 am brother. Get some freakin' rest, will ya?" the older Winchester suggests, his own eyes heavy once more.

"And stop waking me up with your _'Sammy is brooding again,'_ thing."

Silence filled the air, and happiness was a warm bed once again for Dean, his body relaxing into the comforts as easily as it had earlier that night.

"Brooding, huh? Well, let's see Dean," Sam spoke, his voice just barely above a whisper. Standing, he grabbed the keys to the Impala and stalked towards the door. Stopping by Dean's bed, he hit his brother's foot and dangled the keys.

"Let's see how happy you are, sans transmission."

It was 6:47 am. Dean Winchester was definitively awake.


	3. Part 3

_AWAKE:_

**3. **-- He couldn't fall asleep. Day in. Day out. Those damn, horrid hours joined with cursed minutes and hell burned seconds consumed him. _'Only two weeks. One week. Three days left, Dean.'_

Sam constantly reminded him.

His heart ached with a regret to stay, but the stairway to hell had been created many a night before this, the eve of his final sunset. He was holed up beside the last of his family in a less than worthy bar, not by default, but because he needed the last moments of his life to be paired with a sense of completion he only felt with his brother.

"Dean...maybe we should talk about things, ya know..." That voice. Sad and broken. Dean sipped his beer and squinted as the liquid burned like fire over the Everest size lump in his throat. "Sammy please, can't a man have a moment of peace without his Cinderella brother checking to see if the shoe fits?"

Sam smirked. A half smile that hadn't been seen in weeks. "Gotcha," was all he said while his fingers strummed the side of his now sweaty bottle. The smile lasted longer than Dean had expected, and daring a glance at his brother's face, he found Sam's eyes focused on the wooden bar before him.

"Wanna shoot some pool?" He asked, punching Sam's shoulder for good measure. He needed this night to be carefree and endless. Heartbreaking emotions threatened to breach from within and he knew it would take only a single ripple in time break his spirit.

He refused to give in to life as many know it; its metronome of feelings and unconditional words of love.

"Sammy. Pool?" He said again, this time throwing a few bills on the counter and walking towards the darker end of the joint. Sam had no choice. Choke back his emotions or let them get the best of him. Watching his older brother stalk towards the last empty table, he nodded, finished his drink and gave a half wink to the waitress. "Thanks," he muttered, in return to her sad smile.

Chalking his pool stick, Dean watched Sam rack the table, and it was then a disheartening thought occurred to him. "Man, I'm beat," he said under his breath.

Sam eyes immediately locked on Dean, checking his body for any signs of imminent demise and finding none, he calming threw a "what?" out there to stimulate conversation.

"I've been awake for over two days now, man. I'm feeling kind of tired," Dean spoke. Rubbing his chin in a fashion that ached with the discomfort of showing signs of human weakness. "Let's make this a fast game, shall we?"

Sam smirked but held his hand out to hover just above the table, "all yours, Dean."

The game was over without Sam taking a single turn.


	4. Part 4

_AWAKE:_

**4.** -- Hallways, endless and winding. Putrid wallpaper lining the aged drywall. Foul smells from every direction his head turned. But all of these things affected him in less ways than the simple fact that he was alone. Separated. Ripped apart and exiled to a place where Father time ceased to exist.

Where he ceased to exist.

"SAM!"

His cries went unheard. Sounds reverberating from walls that were no longer in focus. His senses were shutting down; his motor functions slowing to an unhealthy pace. _'Am I dead?'_ he questioned to no one in particular, the fear of being abandoned now seeding his consciousness and polluting his calm demeanor.

"Sammy...?" Dean knew by then he was grasping at the proverbial short straw, hell, the entire faulty batch of ill length straws, but his body betrayed his thoughts and his mouth carried on. The horror to great to suppress.

Onward he continued, the screams tearing his throat, breaking the delicate blood vessels and pooling his mouth with the crimson colored liquid. Dammit. Where was his freakishly tall, college boy brother when he needed him the most? He never needed anyone. But Sam wasn't anyone though.

Sam.

Raising his head, he strained to see a vision that would mirror the dying hope his heart was now reeling from. But the pain. God. The pain was unbearable. Even for a man who's delegated middle name began with P and ended with AIN. Least that was what his life, or what he had dubbed his life, had been like.

_'I'm dead,'_ he thought to himself, eyes squeezing shut from the next bout of agony boiling his veins. Then the tears began. Hot, salty tears streaking downward on bruised cheeks. Shaking his head, Dean felt his eyes finally open, only to find he was now suspended in air, meat hooks laced through his most precious and life sustaining areas.

Looking south on his body, he gasped and the realization of where he was dawned on him.

Fear. Anguish. Shock. Pain. Torture. Loss.

Sammy. "I can't protect you anymore... I can't be here..." Over and over an endless stream of forgotten words floated from his vocal chords to a phantom's attention.

He was being torn in half by the chains that now held him, binding him to the fate he chose for the sake of his brothers ill fated destiny.

And then there was nothing.

Tossing. Turning. Flopping about as if he were a fish on dry land, Dean Winchester was awoken from his hellish dream. Panic flooded, and bolting from his warm sheets, he reached out a shaking hand to the younger Winchester sleeping on the mattress next to his.

"Sammy, you okay?"

His first question.

His last question.


	5. Part 5

_AWAKE:_

**5.** -- The custom wheels on his classic defy and own this, today's sad and desolate road; the rubber rolling endless into the horizon. The emptiness that becomes black asphalt and yellow paint create guidelines to the unknown, willingly leading him down. Down to see the one person that laid out the vacancy sign on him so long ago.

But there he was.

Palo Alto.

Stanford University.

Sam's apartment.

Cutting power to the big block engine, Dean waited for the silence to fill the air before motioning out into what was commonly known as, "the real world." Squaring away his too worn out clothes, and silently making sure he was presentable, he exited his car and pushed all the air from his lungs. It had been two years since he last stood beside his brother, saying a cold and bitter goodbye. Twenty-two months since he had heard his voice since their last phone call.

Too long.

Sam would say it was too hard to speak to his big brother, the threat from his job a constant worry that became too much over time. They ceased conversation on account of Sam's concerns, a paradox that confused Dean everyday, including this one. But he didn't want him to worry, so Dean left his little brother to do what he had set out to do, and that was that.

Until tonight.

Stepping into the fraternity style apartment, Dean let himself in quietly, noticing a few college kids making small, meaningless talk. Red pong cups in the right hands of all, their idle hands ticking with obvious need to do something. Anything unrelated to their studies. 'Damn university punks,' he thought while nodding in their general direction, making awkward eye contact but forging on without so much as a "hello" his way.

He made his way to the delegated kitchen and poured himself a cold one; he had to "fit in" after all, and what better way than through alcohol consumption. Shocker.

Sipping the poor excuse for beer, Dean turned on his heel and there his brother was.

"Dean?" Sam looked from his brother's face back to the small crowd of student out in the living room. "Dean, what are you doing here?" Following the question, he ran an uncomfortable hand through his hair and sighed.

"I'm sorry, who?" Dean's response came out before he knew the joke he was playing had actually begun. "I'm here for the booze man, sorry. Don't know you."

Pushing past his gangly younger brother, Dean smirked and downed the remaining liquid in a hurried fashion.

"Dude?" Sam's voice again. Confused just like the beating of his heart.

He turned back, holding his hands up and dropping his head in confession, "ya got me. Hiya Sammy, how goes the college life?"

A single hand gripped his bicep and before he knew what was happening, Dean was being dragged from a safe zone into awkward silence.

"I was just playing around, Sammy, jeez."

"It's Sam now, Dean. What are you doing here?" His eyes scanned the room surrounding them, his gaze locking on one particular location more than any other. "Got someone waiting on you in there Sammy boy?" Dean asked. His raised eyebrow insinuating suggestion of the fairer sex.

"Dean. What. Are. You. Doing. Here?" Fingers still encased around the older Winchester's arm were growing impatient and tighter still, the urgency in his voice evident.

His facial expression having changed, Dean pulled from Sam's grasp, and shaking his head, he exhaled a pain that Sam immediately associated to the memory of their last meeting. "Sorry to have bothered you brother. I'm out."

He stalked away, dropping the remains of his beer in the overstuffed trash can. He made the choice to leave and in doing so never turned back, anger getting the best of him. It would be okay, Dean knew. Some local bar. Young sex, a cheap motel and tomorrow he'd be back to his old self, the pangs of rejection long since left at this frat house door.

Along with his little brother. The same guy he drove three thousand miles to visit.

Sam watched as Dean faded from his view, the fear always associated with his brother returning as if it had never left. He hated wondering if this time would be the last time. Or if he walked out that door, would he ever consider walking back through it again in the future?

Hands on tall, defined hips, Sam shrugged to himself and fast paced his legs towards the door.

He hears his name being called on the opposite side of the thick glass shielding himself from the world. There were no physical tears to show for his boiling failure as a brother, but inside he was dying.

Rolling down the Impala's window, Dean leaned slightly, his attempt at a carefree stance amidst the emotions reeling him in and pushing him out.

"Forget something?" Dean asked Sam, who was now standing by the door, a sad smile linking his lips to a blinding truth: sorrow for constantly pushing him away. "No. Not really. Sorry about that dude, you wanna come in for a real beer?" Clapping his hands together in a sign of compromise, Sam pleaded with his eyes for Dean to accept his apology.

"Yeah man." The words were quick. Too quick, but Sam knew the hidden feelings he had trampled on were slowly coming back around to the brother he had grown to know so well.

Walking back towards the old building, the brothers held the silence as if it were theirs to control. Sam was happy Dean hadn't left. Dean was pleased his little prick brother was apologetic, a happiness he would never own up to.

An hour passed. Then three. Sam finally posed the question that had originally proved to be a party foul: "So...why ARE you here, Dean? I mean, is everything alright? Is Dad okay?"

Ten beers in was all it took for Dean to pierce the veil of bitter sweet memories. "He's fine, everything is good. I just came here to see how you were doing, is all. Really."

Sam nodded, a minnow sized smile lacing his cheeks. "Oh, good to hear. By the way man, when was the last time you slept? You look like hell dude."

Dean laughed at the irony. "I drove three thousand miles. Drank roughly thirty beers since my departure and arrival. Slept with three chicks whose names I couldn't even begin to tell ya. Contemplated turning around three thousand times, but the one thing I didn't do Sammy, was sleep."

Sam's mouth dropped slightly at the admittance of Dean's actions over the last three days.

"So you're telling me that you've been awake for seventy-two hours straight, Dean?"

Dean nodded.

Drowning another beer, he burped and kicked his shoes off. "Time for me to catch some zzz's bro. See you in the morning."

Sam's chuckle could be heard two rooms down, where his girlfriend lay, pretending she were asleep.

Jess was happy for Sam. He never got to see his brother.


End file.
